Chapter 35 Braxton
Braxton
Ilook around Frothy Cakes with a sigh, everything feeling familiar and strange all at once. My knee is jiggling nonstop, my hands shaking as I lift my coffee to my mouth.
A couple of tables away, a family of three is sitting. The boy—about ten—has a small slice sitting in front of him with a flickering candle pushed into it.
As I watch, he sends his mother a severe look. “There’s a cake at home. I watched you bake it.”
“I know,” she replies with a grin, pressing the plate closer to him.
“Is the cake not for me?” he asks, looking back at the table, his frown deepening.
The father leans back in his seat, amusement tugging at his mouth. “The cake is for you, Killer,” he says, and my mouth twitches at the strange nickname. “But if you don’t want the lemon bar—” he reaches out to snag the plate, but the boy swats his hand away with a growl.
“Mine!”
I shake my head with a chuckle as Stevie takes the seat across from me, placing his to-go cup down and pulling the lid off. He reaches for three packets of sugar, opening all of them at once and dumping them into his black coffee.
“Did the meeting go as you expected?” he asks, carrying on the conversation we were having when we met outside. He stirs his sugar water as he looks over at me. “I know you’ve been worried about it.”
A cheer catches my attention, and I look over to see “Killer” has blown out the candle on his lemon bar, his parents clapping enthusiastically.
I lift my hand to rub my jaw, ignoring the tremble in my fingers as I look back at Stevie. “It was just as I expected, but more difficult at the same time.”
Carol and Don, Allison’s parents, asked to meet at a local park—neutral territory—sitting at a picnic table next to a duck pond. It was an emotional meeting right from the start, with Carol bursting into tears the second her eyes landed on my face.
“What made it more difficult?”
I look away from the family, focusing on Stevie. “Witnessing their grief, I guess. Hearing about it, knowing about it is one thing, but…” I exhale heavily. “It’s been, what? Seven months? But there’s no time limit on losing anyone, let alone a child.”
Stevie nods, empathy and understanding on his face.
“It’s confronting to see that in other people because it’s a reminder that it could have been us.
It’s human nature to blame karmic justice, bad luck, or try to explain away horrible things other people go through.
” The skin goes tight around the corners of his eyes.
“Everyone thinks it won’t happen to them, and that’s why it’s hard to face someone suffering.
We have to try to explain it away, but their pain is proof that this isn’t something you can avoid,” he continues.
“You can mitigate the risks, sure, but you can’t live in fear of what might be coming. ”
I stare at him, each word slowly crawling across my brain. “It wouldn’t have happened if that guy hadn’t been speeding,” I murmur, anger leaking through each word.
He shakes his head. “You know that’s not true.” His tone is firm, reminding me of a truth I can’t hide from.
“I know.” I look down at the table, wishing I didn’t.
“People also need someone to blame.” Stevie leans back in his chair, his eyes never leaving me.
“We get all these feelings and no outlet, so it’s easier to point the finger at someone else and say, ‘Well, this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t done this.
’ It’s why so many relationships fail when people go through something traumatic. ”
“I didn’t blame Gracie.”
“No, you didn’t,” he agrees. “You blamed yourself, and then you doled out a fitting punishment.”
“No—” I’m shaking my head, but Stevie talks over me.
“You telling me you didn’t self-sabotage your relationship because you survived and Allison didn’t?”
I blink. “That’s oversimplifying it a little bit.”
Stevie shrugs just as the door to the bakery opens and Gracie steps inside. I watch as she searches for me, her eyes brightening when they land on mine. She comes over, pulling the chair out from beside me and sitting down.
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “Stacey was having a little confidence issue at the shop.” Her mouth turns down, and I know she’s hating that she hasn’t been able to step back into the florist yet. She thinks time will help, and when they finally catch Gerard, but I don’t think it’s that simple.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, sliding a hand around her neck and squeezing. I look up, catching Norielle’s eye behind the counter and tilting my chin. She nods back, turning away to make Gracie’s coffee. “I got you a latte and a cookie,” I tell Gracie.
“Thank you.” Her hand lands on my knee, squeezing, as she looks over at Stevie. “Hi. I’m Gracie.”
I jerk. “Oh, shit. Sorry. Gracie, this is Stevie.”
He reaches across the table, and she slips her hand into his, giving him a small smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Gracie,” he says with a grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Her cheeks warm, her eyes sliding to me in question. I shrug, and she turns back, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ve heard that you’re not very good at first-person shooters.”
Stevie blinks, surprised, before he turns a playful scowl on me. “Seriously?”
I lean back in my seat, draping a casual arm over the back of Gracie’s chair, my smile smug. “Look, man, I’m all about honesty these days.” I tap a finger to my nose. “I shall not tell a lie.”
He rolls his eyes. “We’ll see what kind of lies get told later,” he threatens, but his eyes are flashing with amusement. He lifts his coffee to his mouth, sipping before turning to Gracie. “How did you find the meeting today?”
She blows out a heavy breath. “Emotional,” she whispers. “I felt like I was intruding on a very personal moment.”
“You weren’t,” I tell her, not for the first time. “I needed you there today.”
Her smile is wobbly, and she leans more heavily against me as she tells Stevie, “They lost their entire world when they lost their daughter. Having the man partially responsible behind bars doesn’t feel like much of a consolation.
” Gracie’s hand is still on my knee, and I rest my free one on top of hers, our fingers tangling together.
She looks at me, her eyes filled with emotion.
“I’m glad I got to be there for Braxton. I know it wasn’t easy.”
I don’t say a word, my throat tight enough that I’m not confident I won’t choke on my words.
Stevie watches us, his expression soft with understanding. “It gets easier,” he says. “Not those kinds of meetings. They never do. But finding ways to cope with the grief and stress that come part and parcel with our job.”
I swallow hard, squeezing my fingers around Gracie’s hand but not looking at her as I ask, “How do you stop from ever falling into that hole again? I don’t—”
I cut myself off when Norielle appears with a smile, setting down Gracie’s food and drink. She melts away without a word, probably sensing the tension hovering over our table.
He leans forward, eyes firmly fixed on mine.
“There are no guarantees, which you’ve learned.
You can go into this with your eyes wide open, and one day—” He snaps his fingers.
“But you learn from your mistakes and you find the coping strategies that work. The biggest thing, though?” Stevie’s eyes move between us before settling back on me, his expression sincere.
“You talk it out, Braxton. Don’t hold it in until you explode…
or until you vent to the wrong person. Take the advice of people around you, lean on them, because you aren’t alone in this. ”
I look down at Gracie, finding her watching me with her eyes gleaming. “Stevie’s right,” she whispers. “You aren’t alone, even when it feels like not a single person in the world could possibly understand.”
The emotions of the day crash down on me all at once, leaving my eyes gritty and my chest too hot. I suck in a shaky breath, leaning down to press my forehead against her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Gracie,” I whisper. “So goddamn sorry.”
She angles herself toward me, wrapping me in a tight hug. “No more apologies.”
Stevie gives us a moment, sipping at his coffee as his eyes move around the bakery. When I pull away from Gracie, he eases the conversation back into something less emotionally wrought by challenging me to a shootout later that night.
He leaves fifteen minutes later, telling us he’s got a lunch date he needs to head back to Ashland for. Gracie and I follow not long after, heading over to my parents’ place for lunch.
They knew about the meeting with Allison’s parents this morning and understood why I had Gracie come with me. Still, I can imagine Dad having to hide Mom’s phone to stop her from blowing mine up with messages, demanding to know how it went and whether I’m okay.
As I pull into the driveway and cut the engine, Gracie makes a quiet noise beside me. I palm my keys, eyeing her curiously.
“You okay, Rumpel? We can give this a miss if you want.” As much as I love my parents, I’m exhausted and emotionally drained, and the last thing I want to do is keep talking about it.
I would rather take Gracie home—her home—and curl up on the couch with her, watching bad television and pretending like my world is perfect.
“No, it’s not that,” she murmurs, staring through the windshield at the house. “I’ve been thinking…about us.”
I settle back in my seat, nodding slowly. “There’s no rush. We’re doing this at your pace, and you can change your mind at any time.”
She makes a low sound of amusement. “You sound like you’re talking me out of it.”
“No!” I blurt quickly, and she looks at me, mouth twitching. “I just…I already fucked it all up once,” I say before adding dryly, “And I’m very much aware of not wanting to do that again.”
Gracie nods, her fingers twisting together in her lap, her expression unreadable. She doesn’t say anything for the longest time, but then tells me quietly, “I need to go back to work.”
I pause, mouth opening and closing as I try to make sense of the connection between us and work.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Also something you don’t need to rush.
Maryann understands. They got Onyx Security to install the new system and cameras, but that doesn’t automatically mean you’ll feel safe. Not after what happened.”
I make a mental note to chase up Nick and figure out if they’ve made any headway with finding Gerard. It won’t automatically fix anything, but knowing he’s behind bars might ease the fear.
“I know,” Gracie murmurs, “but I want to go back to work. And seeing you work through everything…” She clears her throat. “I’ve done therapy before, but I didn’t stick it out for long. I was thinking of trying again.”
“Because of the attack?” I ask cautiously. “I think that’s a good idea—”
“Not just that,” Gracie interrupts, and I fall quiet, reaching out to press my hand to hers.
She blows out a breath, closing her eyes.
“I also think I need to deal with the issues my parents have graciously gifted me. I…” She licks her lips nervously.
“I don’t want my first reaction to be to shut down anymore. ”
“That wasn’t your fault,” I tell her firmly. I’ve said it before, but I’ll keep telling her until I’m blue in the face. “You were protecting yourself after I hurt you, Gracie. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know that.” I shoot her a dubious look and she gives me a mock-glare back. “I do,” she insists. “Anyway, I was thinking that I could book an appointment in Ashland, and that you could take me.”
I close my eyes, remembering a time when she offered to be there for me and I turned her down, knowing she’s giving me an opportunity that I stole from her.
“Afterwards,” Gracie continues quietly with a timid smile. “We could…”
I raise my eyebrows. “I need a little more, baby. Tell me what happens now.”
Her mouth twitches—just slightly. “Your serial killer percentage is 46.7%.”
“No kidding,” I murmur, biting back my own smile. “And what does that mean?”
“It means,” Gracie says slowly, her voice growing more steady with each word, “that you get one date.”
I inhale sharply, feeling my heart jumping around in my chest. “Yeah?” I ask hoarsely, and she bobs her head, eyes gleaming.
I wet my lips, trying to calm the chaos in my mind to form a rational thought.
“If you want me to be there when you book a therapy session, I will be,” I promise.
“I can go in with you and hold your hand, or I can wait outside and hold you when you’re done.
If you would feel better with Mom taking you, that’s okay, too. ”
Gracie’s smile eases slightly, her shoulders dropping. “No, you’ll do.”
I chuckle at that. “Okay. But this won’t be our date.”
That makes her pause, eyes flaring. “It won’t be?”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “This will be a friend supporting another friend going through something tough.” I lean forward, cupping her cheek, eyes locked with hers. “Our date will be us, starting fresh. I don’t want anything else clouding over it, reminding us of things that hurt.”
Gracie’s mouth parts on a silent gasp, her stormy eyes soft on mine—blue peeking through. “I like the sound of that.”
I press my forehead to hers, my chest tight enough that it feels like my ribs might actually crack. “Let me know,” I whisper. “As soon as you’re ready for it, let me know.”